The Customer
by FairytalesOfForever
Summary: "It was October 31st, Hallowe'en to the magical world, and their mysterious, annual customer was to arrive at any time." Tom Riddle, prized employee of Borgin and Burkes, has seen this same cloaked figure arrive every Halloween. This year, however, he might just find that he knows the face beneath the cloak. Hints at TomxOC. Drabble.


**A/N: The Houses Competition**

**Team: Badgers  
Class Subject: DADA (Sub)  
Category: Drabble  
Prompt: [Setting] Borgin and Burkes, [Speech] "I don't want any tricks or treats this year."**

**Word Count: 752**

"She should be here any time now, Riddle, so keep an eye on the door and that display."

"Of course," the raven-haired young man demurred.

After his supervisor stomped into the storeroom, letting the door slam shut behind him, Riddle allowed a shadow of a smirk to trace his perfectly-formed lips. It was October 31st, Hallowe'en to the magical world, and their mysterious, annual customer was to arrive at any time. Every year, it was the same—just minutes before midnight, a dark-cloaked woman swept in, silently placed a velvet bag heavy with coins on the counter, and vanished into the night with one of the store's most valuable items. She never came in at any other time, yet she always seemed to know the exact price. They'd stopped counting to make sure she got it right years ago.

With the purse, there was always a note: _The treat is yours; the trick is mine. _

Riddle occasionally wondered if the feminine nature of the silent customer was why they always put him on duty when she was to arrive.

As if summoned by the mere thought of her, the door swept open, filling the shop with the hollow, mournful ringing of a broken bell. She seemed almost to glide in with the elegance of impeccable posture, and, thanks to the way she carried herself, she was only a few inches shy of Tom's own height.

From the heavy black folds of her cloak, she withdrew the velvet purse that bulged with coins and placed it on the counter. Tom caught a glimpse of her soft, dark hand, like a moonless midnight reflected in a deep river, before it disappeared into the fabric once more.

She made her way around the displays in a silence that seemed to ring through the night; Tom watched her caress the Hand of Glory, examine the opal necklace, and gaze for full minutes at the cabinets. She did not seem bothered by some of the more gruesome artifacts that were offered for sale; on the contrary, they fascinated her perhaps more than the rest.

Tom moved slightly behind the counter and began to quietly count the change in the bag, acting as if he was no longer watching her. Every once in a while, however, his coal-black eyes would flick upwards to check the cloaked figure's progress. She had never stayed this long before. Every year prior, she would have been gone by now, vanished into the night, only to appear like a dark phantom the next Hallowe'en.

A dark, _rich_ phantom.

Borgin and Burkes was not picky when it came to customers.

Finally, she seemed to have made her selection. She gave a satisfied nod—Tom saw the motion of the hood—and stopped pacing around the shop. However, instead of taking the item and leaving, she did something she'd never done, and returned to the counter.

"Do you need something?" Tom asked with false idleness. Rather than masking any kind of fear, he was attempting to disguise his burning curiosity.

He thought he saw her smile. Then she did something else she'd never done—she spoke.

"I don't want any tricks or treats this year."

She pulled back her hood.

The first thing Tom saw was a pair of sky-blue eyes that burned into his memory. The second thing he saw was her face—a moonless midnight reflected in a deep river and framed by curtains of silky dark hair while her eyes seemed to be stars. It was older, but it was a face he knew.

"Endaunte? Seraphina Endaunte?" he asked quietly.

She smiled proudly—he remembered that smile. The memory stung.

"What—"

She reached over the counter and placed her hand over his. "Your hands are still as cold as ice. I used to worry about that, you know," she said. Then her eyes grew serious and lost their sparkle. "I worry about you more now."

He stared at her. "Why?"

"I'm going to do whatever it takes to save you," she said.

"Save me?"

"Yes, save you," she said, her eyes burning diamonds. "What's happened to you?"

"I am making a place for myself in the world," he said stiffly. He had never forgotten their parting of ways—even now, she still pretended to understand him.

"It is not the place where you belong," she insisted.

"And how, exactly, do you plan to 'save' me?" he asked with an amused smirk.

She leaned across the counter with a sly smile, her hands finding and grasping his collar. "This year, the treat is mine."


End file.
